change
by crispycrumblycrust
Summary: You've always loved her hair.


Her hair...you've always loved her hair. It seems endless. It is endless at times. Whenever you hug her – it's easy – and fall asleep you dream of long, silky threads wrapping around you, spiralling again and again before everything turns green.

It's warm when it's cold and it turns cold when it's warm. You love to play with the strands – each different, but every one of them perfect – and she loves the attention. She sighs when your fingers trail up her arm and rest on her shoulder.

She leans into you and closes her eyes. You lean into her and inhale azure.

She's much stronger than you. You've always been the weakest one. She tugs you to her, not stopping until you're on her lap. She hums and it tickles your ear. You shudder.

She always pulls you closer then, always closer, and wraps her arms around you. You feel her lips curling up and this lovely melody – each time a different one, but never failing to _do_ things to you, all kind of things.

You turn. She stands. You curl your legs around her, but the grip is faltering – it never is enough. Not nearly.

But she holds you up, so easily. One arm. You only succeed in sliding the dress off her shoulder.

She loves to watch, and frequently joins too. Especially after she has added another star to her growing collection.

Musicians and dancers part for her as she stands and walks – gliding almost – towards the stage. The main attraction, the reason so many are watching, so many are standing.

It always leaves you in awe. The glimpses of a thigh. The dress seeming to do things. This, this _look_ she gives you, only you. And you choke when she winks and turns.

In privacy, you let her know what that little stunt has made you feel, what it makes you want to do to her while she was singing, dancing, enticing.

She only chuckles and embraces you. She sighs when you kiss her and you almost choke again.

–

Two becomes one. It...happens. One moment you are reading reports, leaning on her while she is reciting history that has turned into myths for some. The next there is silence and the screen blurs before fainting.

This feels wrong – unfamiliar – but at the same time surely this must be perfection. This, whatever this is, is better than singing in harmony, holding her hands and dance.

When she agrees with you, when you and her stand up against _her_.

It feels better than just...being together. It feels better than a quiet moment together, her lips on yours and her arms drawing you even closer, closer, always closer to her.

You don't know what has happened, but it ends. It might be you pulling away or she shying away from you or just...something else intervening.

...

It can't be anything else. No, it _is_ that. That word _she_ has once said, and never again. Because once is enough. _She_ never changes.

You glance at her, she stares away. Yes, she knows too.

She leaves the next day. A star has caught her eye – now it has, after a long period of idleness – pretty convenient.

Well, no matter. It makes you think of priorities too. You have yet to succeed the magical number. You have larger stars, yes, but _she_ has the best stars.

Two stars – five natural sattelites – added. You don't even grin. It won't even make any difference. This height you just can't reach. You can see the goal, but never even close to touching.

She is still away, still in the same place.

Officially.

Her Pearl answer your calls, and you can see the struggle even if her head is bowed, and her eyes perpetually covered by her hair.

You give the same message. She nods – always nodding – and ends the call.

She never calls back.

You should have known this will come. Nothing escapes _her_ grasp, _her_ knowledge.

 _She_ doesn't even summon you, doesn't summon her. She comes. Alone, without warning.

Standing tall, so very tall, brightness spreading everywhere.

At least she has the courtesy of appearing now, away from everyone else, away from your Pearl. It's even worse, though. No witnesses means she doesn't have to show restraint.

And yes, you see _that_ glint even from here.

She stares, and you know – she _knows._ Perhaps she has always known, perhaps that is the reason why she has only ever mentioned that dreaded, taboo word once. Why she hasn't called a meeting for such a long while.

She advances, you retreat, but you give up – you freeze – once she starts talking about punishment...no, about banishment.

You think of her. She can't survive that. Yes, between you three, she dislikes crowds – gems, living beings – the most. But she enjoys a voyage, she enjoys dancing and singing all the more. The fact that she hasn't shown herself for so long says enough. No, you can't do that to her. Not that too.

She grabs your hands. You feel the strength, the displeasure even through thin gloves.

At first you feel nothing, but then white is spreading everywhere – cold and warm at the same time.

You think it's worth it if you take the brunt. A small sacrifice, to see her smile. To stroke her hair...to just be with her.

Your boots reach higher now. And you've added some height. You're still not tall enough, though, never.

You've pulled on gloves as well – longer gloves, sturdier ones, and not transluscient anymore. It hides everything except the pain. Constant pain.

You've contained...it in your arms. The shoulder pads weigh too heavy, they look wrong. But better this than cutting off your arms.

You begin your search.

This must stop. This is growing ridiculous, this perpetual refusal to meet you.

You can't find her, she's not where she says she is – you shoudn't even be surprised.

But you persist, you must.

You try to think like her. Her pearl calls and stares at you. Only staring, before disconnects and you see only your reflection.

Your Pearl finds a tag though. At least something helpful.

You think it might be trap, it might be _her._

But you go. There is no other option.

You are not prepared for this.

She wears a cloak now. The layer under it is flat and heavy and ugly.

She refuses to stand and meet you halfway. She remains hunched, head bowed down.

She has darkened.

You don't know what to do, except stare. The silence – the distance – between you two is more painful than ever. You've never felt something like this before, not like this.

Her Pearl appears beside you, and you can only follow her out. You don't even feel her gaze on you.

Yes...it hurts, so very much, it hurts far too much.

–

You understand, finally.

 _She_ hasn't met you before her. It's her before _she_ came for you.

This isn't a tantrum that persists long, very long – oh, she has those, you know that, you _know._

She can't stand, even if she wanted to.

This change of fashion is all to force eyes to focus on her face, on her neck, on her chest. Above, never below.

The four, mechanical legs are walking for her now.

It must be her Pearl. For being such a quiet, fragile, small thing, she can be surprisingly resourceful. And loyal – to the right one.

You read the words disguised as a report. Your imagination has never ran so rampant before.

It can't be. You refuse to believe.

You stand. The images linger even as you pace.

 _Step step step,_ it doesn't help.

You march away, but you only see what you don't want to see.

–

It's worse. You knock that damned cloak off.

It's much worse, it's all true. None of that beautiful, long, thick hair, ever again. She can fit in your lap now without you groaning under her weight, and you feel you can easily embrace her, but never cuddle.

It's all gone.

She only sits. You see the top of her head and you focus on the ground.

You choke her name out – it hurts.

She won't sing, ever again. The voice that answers you has grown raw, faint. Alien.

You think of your arms. How they ache every moment, even with gloves, even when you frown and clench your teeth. Even when you cross your arms and try to squeeze everything out.

It's nothing compared to this.

A new member. Just like that. As if nothing has happened.

A small one –even smaller than you. Naked, crouched on the ground and so light, so bright, so _pink_.

 _She_ talks of a fresh start, a new sigil.

You ignore _that_ voice – it gets easier with practise – and only stare at her. You've stopped flinching when, as expected, she doesn't meet your gaze. She sits so far away. She occupies her own place, a perfect square in shades of blue, four moving legs. You can't reach.

Quiet, distant, dark.

Changed.

No, this isn't a new beginning.

This...this new one that springs up and chatters and grins – it will sing and dance before long. Before she will darken.

You only see the beginning of the end.


End file.
